These Blue Remembered Hills
by chaletian
Summary: She was a kidnapped, brainwashed, telepathic Russian EarthForce commander. It was all because she didn’t have enough calcium in her diet. Pt XVII added. Sarah is convinced, and there is another attack.
1. Prologue & Part I

Title: These Blue Remembered Hills   
Author: Liss/The Proverbial   
Rating: PG-13 / (K+ or whatever it is now)   
Notes: AU, post S4.   
Distribution: Four Poster Bed (obvs!); anywhere else, please just let me know.

Personal Log: John Sheridan

OPERATION BOOM HAS COMMENCED. THE INFORMATION WE RECEIVED RECENTLY HAS INDICATED THAT OUR PREVIOUS SOURCES MAY HAVE BEEN MISTAKEN. WE'RE GOING ABOUT THIS QUIETLY. A LOT OF PEOPLE COULD GET EGG ON THEIR FACE AND WE DON'T WANT TO TIP THEM OFF. I JUST HOPE TO GOD WE FIND WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR.

End Log

Prologue

"I don't know how you do it!" exclaimed Louisa Hammond, as she watched her son's kindergarten teacher efficiently ice a batch of buns. "Honest to God, Sarah, if I had to deal with these little monsters day in, day out, you wouldn't catch me volunteering to make cake!" Sarah Travis, well aware that Louisa, chief of the cake-baking brigade of Calloway, Indiana, was merely flattering her, smiled and said nothing. Louisa continued, unabashed. "You know, I can't help but admire someone like you, someone who has such dedication to children. It's truly inspiring, Sarah, really."

"Why, thank you, Louisa," murmured Sarah, as she finished off the final bun. "There! Six dozen, you said?"

"Yes. Thank you so much! We do really appreciate it. You will be coming to the bake sale, won't you? Now, don't turn me down! It just wouldn't be the same without you!"

"I'm sure you'd manage," replied Sarah drily, as she started boxing up the buns. Her tone was lost on Louisa, who continued blithely.

"Oh, no! You do such wonderful work here! Well, thanks for the buns!" She picked up the cardboard carton carefully, and walked out. Sarah grinned after her.

"I am such a sucker," she commented to herself, then washed her hands, and readied herself for the day ahead.

Part I

…if I survive this without completely losing my mind, it will be a miracle of near biblical proportions…there goes my faith in the Almighty…

Sarah sat bolt upright, instantly awake, a mild sense of indignation burning in her breast that was swiftly and completely obliterated by the wary sense of disorientation that followed another dream. Once again, she couldn't remember what it was about, but she always knew when she had them. She would wake up suddenly, terrifyingly sure that her whole world was different and then… nothing. It was just her, boring old Sarah Travis, in her 'quaint' (real estate broker's word) apartment. But still she glistened with sweat and she raised a shaking hand to wipe her face, pushing back her hair as she did so. Rising, she crossed to the bathroom to splash her face then, eyes stinging, gazed at herself in the mirror. Her own face stared back. Exactly what she saw every day – same boring face, same eyes, same short hair. She pulled at a strand, and considered colouring it or growing it but, as usual, a shudder of discomfort passed through her and she shrugged, letting the hair fall. Her hair would remain short and dark and completely different from… From what?

"I'm going mad," she decided, abandoning the bathroom mirror and heading back to bed. She didn't believe it, not really. Mad was too interesting for her. But where had it come from, all of a sudden? These unsettling feeling of… of _difference_. She had always fitted in, always got on well with people. Her family, her friends at school and at college, her colleagues at her previous jobs in other elementary schools across the country. OK, she was a little shy and tended to blend into the background and, sure, she had a fatal inability to say 'no' to anyone, but never before had she felt, as she did now, that somehow she didn't belong.

"Completely mad." She needed to get out more. Socialise. Maybe she would go to the bake sale that afternoon. She fell asleep, and when she woke again, it was just before seven o'clock, and time to get up.

Sarah had wanted to teach kindergarten for as long as she could remember. She loved children, but found the older children intimidating and hard to manage. It was with the younger kids that she had found her niche, and she rejoiced in her job, her vocation. Teaching the children the foundations that could lead to such great things – what could be better? She knew some women yearned for powerful jobs, or jobs in the military, but that wasn't for her. Here, in this small town, teaching children their ABCs – that was what she loved.

Her day continued in its usual way. Not predictable: with a class of 25 four- and five-year olds, predictable was never an option! But there was a pleasing sense of familiarity from day to day, a rhythm that remained, no matter who was painting whom with bright red poster paint ("No, Tommy, I don't think Letitia likes that."). At half-two her charges were gone, and she was tidying up the classroom when Louisa Hammond once again appeared, this time with Tommy in tow.

"I'm sorry about the paint," Sarah apologised, stacking miniature chairs against the wall. She glanced at the boy, whose t-shirt was liberally smeared. "It'll wash out." Louisa waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, I don't pay no nevermind to that! Boys will be boys! Now, I just came to check that you're coming this afternoon. Four o'clock, in the park?"

"Sure. I mean, I'd love to." Louisa smiled brilliantly, and whisked Tommy away, leaving Sarah to poster paint and chairs. She made quick work of the tidying, and finished just as the rest of the school was leaving. She crossed the school yard briskly, steering (subtly, she hoped) a path around the rowdier element of the older kids. She had almost reached the gates when a yelp, quickly stifled, caught her attention. Looking back, she saw that a new kid who, judging by his clothing, had come from a big city or maybe even a colony, had been surrounded by the oldest of the boys. They were pushing him between them until, inevitably, he lost his balance and fell. They crowded in. Sarah stood hesitantly. She should intervene. They were children. She was an adult, and a teacher. It was her responsibility. Her feet wouldn't move.

"We don't want you Martian freaks here!"

"I bet you hang out with aliens!"

"Squit!"

"I suggest you boys go home, unless you want to explain to your parents how you got your asses kicked by the kindergarten teacher." She stood, arms akimbo, a flush of anger high on her cheeks. One of the boys sneered.

"Hey, this is none of you – " he started. He didn't finish.

"Move it!" she barked, and they moved. The boy from Mars scrambled to his feet and ran off in the opposite direction. Sarah stood there, her legs shaking.

"My, that was impressive," came a voice behind her. It was the principal, a stern grey-haired lady, who had been teaching at the school since the 2210s. "I didn't think you liked you dealing with the older kids?"

"I-I don't," replied Sarah, her arms around herself now. "I don't know what… Excuse me. I think I'm going to be sick." The school gates beckoned, and she followed. She was sick. No-one saw her.

_To be continued. Feedback welcomed and cherished and called George. _


	2. Part II

**These Blue Remembered Hills **

Part II 

Sometimes Sarah thought that Calloway, Indiana lived for bake sales. Not to mention Independence Day picnics, Christmas parties and any other social gathering the town could invent. Sometimes Sarah thought that Calloway, Indiana was trying to pretend it was in twentieth century and not the twenty-third. No one from Calloway ever went off-world. No one from Calloway had ever seen an alien, except on ISN. And a good whack of Calloway didn't even watch ISN. The local networks had been good enough in the past, and they were good enough now. Sarah herself didn't watch ISN. It was just about Earth Alliance politics and alien wars, and she wasn't interested in that. The machinations of EarthGov were irrelevant to Sarah.

The machinations of Calloway Town Council, on the other hand, were of paramount importance, which is why Sarah had come to the bake sale, even when all she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed after the afternoon's upset. There had been whisperings in the faculty lounge that there were cuts planned for the elementary school. Sarah wasn't particularly good at schmoozing - she was too shy - but she would put in an appearance, make sure that she spoke to the leading lights of the town council.

She was just lining up Cllr Bob Armstrong, a local entrepreneur, in her sights, a chocolate crispy clutched in one hand, when Louisa wafted up to her, a darkly clad man in tow. Sarah abandoned the thought of buttonholing Cllr Bob with no little relief, and turned to the persistent woman. Louisa's insistence that she attend the bake sale was explained. She was being set up. Again.

These women had no mercy.

"Louisa!" she said, trying to imbue her greeting with some enthusiasm. She failed, but Louisa, unsurprisingly, was not daunted.

"Sarah! Don't you just look the cutest thing in that dress! Doesn't she look the cutest?" The question was addressed to her companion who, it was quite clear, didn't agree. Sarah herself found the epithet 'cute' to be quite revolting generally when applied to a 35 year old woman, and specifically in her case, when she was very far from cute. Cute is petite and bubbly and retroussee noses. Cute was not Sarah. She turned to the man expectantly, trying to hide a smile. Then she looked at him properly, and all desire to smile faded.

Psi Corps. There was no mistaking that uniform. The badge indicating the Greek letter 'psi'. The black gloves. The shiny, careful hair. Sarah swallowed, instantly on edge. There was something about telepaths that made her uneasy, always had done, ever since Lewis Maxwell had developed telepathic powers in ninth grade and found out that she had a crush on him. He hadn't been sympathetic. Her uneasiness was clearly making itself felt, and the man smiled, and raised his hands. An age-old gesture to indicate trustworthiness; safety. Sarah wasn't reassured. Louisa was oblivious.

"Oh, this is Harold Grey. You know, the Greys, don't you? They live out near the Barry farm. Harold works for Psi Corps," she continued, as if that fact wasn't perfectly obvious; as if one could 'work for' the Psi Corps. "He's just visiting and I though, what the heck! You two should meet! Oh, look! There's Reverend Jim!" She made a beeline for the reverend. Sarah and Harold watched.

"She's terrifying," murmured Sarah, watching with a sort of fatal fascination as the older woman cornered the reverend and steered him towards the punch-bowl.

"I'll say," replied Harold. He had stopped watching Louisa and was watching Sarah instead. She pretended that she hadn't noticed. "Call me Harry," he said suddenly, thrusting his hand out, ignoring Sarah's startled jump. She looked at his hand, dubiously, and he grinned.

"You're OK, you know. Even if I were allowed to exercise mind control, thereby using you as an unwitting tool to smother Louisa Hammond in fairy cakes, a plan that seems more appealing the longer I am in her company, I wouldn't be able to. I'm very low down in the ranks of Psi Corps - practically harmless. They just keep me around because of my charming personality."

Sarah's right eyebrow quirked questioningly. Harry sighed theatrically. "My mother tells me that. She loves me."

"Someone has to," remarked Sarah. Harry frowned.

"Hey, I have a whole crowd of people who adore me! My dad is extremely fond of me. My brother loves me really. His wife hasn't yet tried to poison me. Admittedly my nephew would like me better if I carried a PPG, and my landlady is only mildly in favour, butthere's love. That's a real heart-warming list."

"I know. I feel cherished. So, will you have dinner with me?" Faced with such a blatant frontal assault, Sarah could only gape at him, losing herself in a morass of half sentences.

"No! Well, I mean that is, I'm really busy and I don't" She tailed off. Harry smiled engagingly.

"C'mon! You know you want to!" Somewhere, Sarah's mind rebelled at someone telling her what she did and didn't want, but the words wouldn't surface. "Come with me!"

"OK. Sure." She shrugged. "I'll come."

"That's great! I'll pick you up at eight?" Harry Grey strolled away, and Sarah watched him leave. She looked down. The chocolate crispy was still clutched in her hand, a brown smooshed-up mess. Tears pricked her eyes.

"Why the heck can't I ever just say no?"

_To be continued. Feedback always welcomed. Soon it will all start to make sense..._


	3. Part III

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part III**

PERSONAL LOG: JOHN SHERIDAN  
Another red herring. In this day and age, I swear I don't know how this can be so hard. It's taking its toll on all of us, Michael especially, I think. But we will find answers. We have to.  
END PERSONAL LOG

Sarah's relationship with Harry Grey progressed rather more quickly than she had intended. Of course, the fact that she was having a relationship with Harry Grey was more than she had intended. They had dinner. They had lunch. One weekend they went camping; another they went to Washington and saw the sights. Sarah bought memorabilia to take back to show the children.

One night they had sex.

"Did you scan me?" She sat up primly, the polycyrestene sheet wrapped securely round her. Her gaze was fixed on the pool of Harry's clothes, on top of which lay his gloves.

"Why? Do you think I can't control it?" Her smile was wry.

"We just had hot monkey sex, Harry. I don't think control was at the top of your body's agenda. It was just - you know. A lot of skin. I mean, I've seen the vids of people being scanned." He looked surprised.

"During sex?" Sarah laughed, and elbowed him.

"Sick! No, just generally, of course. Did you?"

"Do you trust me?" She was silent. He made a 'hmph' sound. "No, then."

"No, I do! It's just well, you know, the whole Lewis thing, and"

"C'mon, Sarah! You can't compare me to a 14 year old boy! I mean, you know men don't actually grow brains until they're at least 30, right? And that's true. We're all apes. But you can trust me. I didn't scan you." His voice was honest. His eyes were honest. And yet Sarah couldn't trust. But she smiled.

"Hey, it's OK. I'm sorry. I don't know what Let's not argue, huh?" Harry slipped an arm around her.

"Not big on the confrontations, are you?"

"Hey, as long as it's dolls and spaceship ownership rights, I'm fine. But, no. Give me an argument and I'm gone. I just hate it. God, I am such a wuss!" She clenched the sheet in her fist, and refused Harry's attempt to talk her out of her conviction. "No! I mean, jeez, Harry, a few weeks ago in the yard at school this bunch of kids was picking on a new boy who'd just transferred in from Mars. And they were being vicious, really vicious. And I was just standing there, watching. What's with that? They're little boys and I was too scared to tell them off. I mean, I did, in the end but well, you know how that ended. Sometimes I think I'm in the wrong job here."

"You're a great teacher, Sarah. And you don't have to be Hitler to be a good teacher, you know that. Don't worry about it."

"I guess. I just Part of me wanted to go over there and bust their balls. Evil little _svolachi_. Practically accusing that poor kid of being some kind of alien in disguise." She shook her head despairingly. "I don't get it."

"Hmm," said Harry absently. "What does _svolachi_ mean, Sarah?" She looked at him blankly.

"I don't know. Why? Weren't you listening to what I just said?"

"Yeah. That's what you said. Hence my question."

"_Svolachi_?"

"Yep."

"Why would I say that? I don't know what it means?" Harry shrugged.

"Hey, it doesn't matter. Let's go back"

"No, of course it matters. Why would I say something when I didn't know what it means? When did I say it?" Harry groaned, and tried to pull her under the sheet, but Sarah resisted. He gave in to the inevitable, and sat up.

"You called those boys evil little _svolachi_."

"Evil little bastards was what I said."

"Nooo. _Svolachi_." Sarah climbed out of bed, ignoring Harry's protests as she took the sheet with her. She settled behind her desk, turning on the computer.

"Computer, define _svolachi_."

"Not in dictionary."

"See? Maybe I just misheard"

"Computer, translate _svolachi_."

"Working Svolachi - Russian. Illegitimate. Colloquial meaning: bastard."

"OK, there you go. Russian bastards. Problem solved. Come back to bed, Sarah." She ignored him and sat tapping the desk in front of her.

"I don't know any Russian."

"Well, you obviously do." Harry climbed out of bed, uncaring as to his nudity, and grabbed her hand. "Look, people pick up random words from other languages, especially swear words. Don't worry about it." He ran his hand up her arm.

_She smiled at him ruefully. "All this time I've fought against capitalism. Now I am the expanding Russian front." He smiled back. "But with very nice borders."_

"What was _that_?" She pulled away, quickly, sharply, standing up.

"Jeez, I'm sorry, Sarah! I didn't mean to, you were just"

"No, I mean what _was_ that?"


	4. Part IV

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part IV**

Once again dressed, Sarah sat on her sofa, surrounded by cushions, still-trembing fingers wrapped securely round a mug of hot chocolate. Harry had offered brandy. She felt better with chocolate.

"I've been seeing things," she began haltingly. "For a while now. Dreams, visions. I don't know what they are. At first, it was only a couple but it's getting more. I can go for months without anything, and then I dream every night for a week." She swivelled her head to look at Harry, propped against the door frame, his expression serious. "Do you think I'm going mad?" He stepped forward quickly, knelt, took her free hand in his.

"No! God, no! Don't think that!"

"Then what? Harry, I don't know what these things are. I dream, I know I see things that should matter, but every time - every time - I wake up and it's gone. Today, when you that was the first time I've remembered what I saw. Did you?" Harry nodded, understanding.

"Did I see it, too? Yeah. That man - did you recognise him?" Sarah shook her head.

"No. And it's not just that I didn't recognise him. He - he didn't mean anything to me. I mean, there was no familiarity, no nothing. It was like I was watching a stranger. If it's in my head, shouldn't I know who he is? Shouldn't I recognise him? I mean, even if it was just a dream and I saw him on a vid or something?" Harry stood, paced. Sarah hesitated, then spoke again, quietly. "Can you look? See if there's more?"

"I don't know. Look, Sarah, this isn't exactly my field. You're talking to a P3 here. I perform standard scans when necessary but frankly my actual job is more like being a salesman for the Corps. I visit schools, give the pitch. Delving into someone's psyche is not what I do for my living."

"But you could look, just a little." She shifted, suddenly eager. "You can see what's going on, I know you can." He looked unconvinced, and she held out her hand. "I need to know. Please, you have to help me." Harry looked at her hand, slender fingers extended in supplication. Slowly, he reached out, and their finger-tips touched. His mind pushed out and he was there

_Pleasure, hot and sharpsomeone else's skin against hersLouisa is driving me crazy - I can't seem to go a day without running into herCody, don't do thatPut the paint down!adrenaline running through her as the boy stares her down_

"This isn't doing anything!" Harry pulled away, scratched at his forehead. "It's just what you've experienced recently, nothing that could explain what you talked about. Look, Sarah, I'm not the one to do this." As he spoke, Sarah's expression changed, hardened, became ruthless. She jumped up from the sofa, and clasped her hands to his face.

"Try harder, dammit!" She pressed, and her mind met Harry's.

_"You wouldn't catch me volunteering to make cake!"children squabbling over a toyI really hate tents"I never realised, but you have her eyes"he could destroy all our plansthe captain won't do itI have to protect us all"Belay that order!"_

They staggered apart. Sarah looked at her hands, transfixed. "I was going to kill him. Blow him out of the sky. But it wasn't me. I don't understand this, Harry. Harry?" But Harry wasn't listening. He was just staring at her.

"You're a telepath."

"What? No!" She laughed. "I think I'd've noticed. I think _Psi Corps_ would have noticed." Harry backed away, until he was once again in the doorway.

"No. It was you. You forced that connection; it wasn't me." She advanced; he retreated - step for step. "You forced me." Her expression was uncomprehending.

"But I couldn't. I don't know how. I'm not a telepath, Harry. I was tested like everyone else at school. I mean, even if I was a telepath, wouldn't have been able to do it myself - look, I mean? That was you."

"But you made the connection. God, Sarah, you don't understand what you did, and I can't - I can't deal with this right now, OK?" He grabbed his jacket, strode to the door. "I'm going home. I'll call in a day or two." He paused a moment, looked back at her. "But I just I love you, Sarah. I just wanted to tell you. We'll talk about this some more, later." He left, swinging the door closed behind him. Sarah watched, hands at her heart.

Harry didn't call for two days. On the third day, the school administrator dropped into the faculty lounge with a message for Sarah.

"Your Harry called, Sarah. Said he'd be by this evening." Sarah smiled, and blushed.

"Thanks, Adele."

"Oh, you're welcome, sweetie. You're a lucky thing, with a fine young man like that." Sarah's smile widened, the memory of Harry's parting words still warm in her heart.

"Yes, I know I am."

She hurried home from school, already planning what she needed to do. Tidy up, prepare a meal, shower, change - she could wear that blue dress she bought last month. As she turned into the drive, she saw Harry's transporter - he was early. Butterflies leapt in her stomach, nerves made her palms clammy. Tonight she would tell him that she loved him.

It takes no great insight to realise that this wouldn't happen. There is some tricksy devil in the universe that ensures that moments of such beautiful anticipation are inevitably doomed to disappointment and destruction. Sarah's first realisation of this was a brutal of the unmistakable red swath of blood across her living room carpet. The body was her second clue.

Harry Grey was very much dead.

_And it's starting to warm up... Feedback is always appreciated._


	5. Part V

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part V**

PERSONAL LOG: JOHN SHERIDAN  
Michael has a line on Bester. He's going to Earth to follow it up. I hope he has more success with this lead than he has with the others.  
END LOG 

Michael Garibaldi tested the coffee in Marcy's Diner, and decided that he approved. Small town America was an unknown quantity to him, and coffee is too important to be left to chance. This would do nicely. Fortifying himself with another sip, he leant back against the faux leather banquette and looked around. As something of a connoisseur of twentieth century Earth, he found the whole look very, very familiar. Some things never changed. A lot of people liked it that way.

A waitress sauntered over, an order pad in one hand. Michael sat up and grinned engagingly.

"Nice place you've got here."

"Thanks, hon. We kinda like it. Now, what can I get you? Our pie's a winner."

"Who am I to deny pie? That'd be great." As she made to leave, he asked a casual question. "Guess you don't get many strangers in a place like this?"

"Not usually. Course, with that murder, we've got folk all over. Good for business, I guess. Still, kinda gruesome for my tastes. He was such a nice guy, even for a teep. But then, he was local. That poor Sarah. She must be heart-broken." She shook her head sorrowfully. "Sometimes I don't know what the world's coming to. Well, I'll just get your pie."

"Thanks," replied Michael automatically, already comparing what the waitress had said with the information he already had. One dead local, check. News reports said it was Harold Grey, 37, Psi Corps. Garibaldi's sources said he was a low-level teep working the schools, promoting Psi Corps, some screening of the kids. The local security people said (in their files, carefully hacked) that it was personal and violent and there were no signs that it was related to his connection with the Corps.

So what the hell was Bester, Psi Cop extraordinaire, doing out here in Calloway, Indiana? Not for the local scenery, that was for sure. No, Bester thought something was up. And that made Michael very, very interested. What was it about the death of an unimportant P3 that had Bester out here? Well, for a start, the P3 wasn't so unimportant. Nothing had come up in the official files, though. Grey had been born here, gone to school here. At the age of 12 he had started showing signs of telepathic power. A screen a month later had confirmed it, and Harold Grey had been shipped out to one of the Psi Corps' educational centres. After graduation, he had gone straight into PR, and there he had stayed. He lived in Seattle. He occasionally came back to Calloway to visit his parents. He had been murdered in the home of Sarah Travis, a local teacher.

_"That poor Sarah. She must be heart-broken."_

Sarah Travis was his next stop.

"I don't know! I don't know, do you hear me?"

"But you were close to him. Did he mention any worries he was having? Any problems? He was one of ours, Miss Travis. We need to find who did this to him."

"I know. God, mindwiping is too good for anyone who'd do something like this. I just I don't know how anyone could do it." Her head in her hands, Sarah fought back tears, determined not to cry in front of this man. She had already spoken to Calloway's security force after she had called in the murder. They had been kind, sympathetic, understanding. This man was none of those things. Oh, he was trying, but she had looked into his eyes and there was nothing there. "I'm sorry," she continued, "but I really can't help you."

The man, Bester, looked like he wanted to push the issue, but he suddenly alerted to something, and made an almost-hasty departure. Sarah watched him leave, disconcerted, then wary as she saw yet another stranger approaching. She closed the door to, peering round the side.

"Yes?"

"Miz Travis?" She nodded and, despite her reluctance, opened the door.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"May I come in?" She stood aside, wordlessly consenting, wondering, as she did so, why she wasn't protesting to a complete stranger coming into her home. She closed the door, and turned to face him.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Are you with what's-his-name - Bester?" The man seemed to pick up on her distaste, and grinned.

"Didn't like him, huh?"

"Oh, he was a peach," she answered, heavy on the sarcasm.

"Yeah, Al's a real people person. And, no, I'm not with him. Thank God."

"Well, that's good to know. So, why are you here?" The man seemed to consider her question carefully. Finally, he answered.

"I'm on a quest."

"A quest."

"Yep." Sarah scratched at her jaw, and squinted at him.

"Mmhmm. OK."

"My name's Michael Garibaldi," he offered, and he watched her expectantly.

"That's nice."

"I thought you'd like to know."

"Well, names are always good. I think Look, Mr Garibaldi, I'm sorry but, seriously, what are you doing in my house?"

"Seriously? I'm looking for something, and I think Bester has an idea where it is. So, when he goes to places he has no good reason to, I follow."

"Something?"

"Someone."

_Ha ha! A real B5 person! More to come..._


	6. Part VI

**These Blue Remebered Hills**

**Part VI**

"How much do you know about what happened five years ago: the war, Clark, all that?" Sarah looked confused at the question, but answered willingly.

"There was some kind of coup. Um, some military people overthrew Clark. That's about it. Oh, and there was that guy, I can't remember his name - the one who became like president of the universe or something." She saw Michael's horrified expression, and grinned. "John Sheridan, President of the Interstellar Alliance. I teach kindergarten. I do feel obliged to know stuff like that. To be honest, though, I don't tend to bother much with that kind of thing."

"Uh, yeah. So, anyway what, you didn't notice the whole martial law thing, the arrests, the riots, nothing?"

"Look, it's different round here. Well, not here, exactly - I didn't move here until a couple of years ago, but the last town I lived in was pretty similar. Things just carried on as normal. You've got to understand, we just don't have that much to do with EarthGov. Heck, most people here don't even watch ISN."

"Jesus. I've heard of places like this, but I sure as hell didn't believe they existed." Sarah bristled.

"Hey, this is a great town! Anyway, you were telling me about this someone?"

"Yeah. Well, it's a long story."

"Why am I not surprised?" At the sight of her visitor's raised brows, she mimed zipping her lips, and smiled encouragingly.

"I was the security chief on the Babylon 5 station - I take it you've heard of that?" At her nod, he continued. "As Clark got increasingly out of line, we - the command crew - made certain decisions. We opposed him; tried to show he was responsible for President Santiago's death. Eventually we seceded from Earth, became independent. We were hotting up for a confrontation, and Clark knew it. He managed to get hold of Commander Ivanova, the second in command on the station. He knew she would have crucial information about what we were planning - pretty much all the information, in fact." He fell silent, contemplative.

"Anyway, they got her. Clark was keeping it quiet; we didn't know where she was. We were in the middle of a goddamn war, we didn't have the time to Well, we just left it. After Clark killed himself, we tried to find records of what they'd done with her, but everything was a mess; the provisional government didn't know their ass from their elbow. Then we were sent papers about an unnamed prisoner who had been killed days before the strike against Clark. It was pretty conclusive."

"The commander?"

"Yeah. She was dead." They were both silent. Then:

"So, how did she go from being dead to being someone you're looking for?" Michael seemed to cheer up.

"About six months ago one of my informants sent me some intel on the facility where this prisoner had been held. Turns out, it wasn't Ivanova. Looked like her, had her ident tags. They did a good job."

"But not good enough."

"No. I think she's out there somewhere."

"So, why Bester? What's he got to do with all this?" Michael's smile this time was dangerous.

"Oh, Al gets his kicks meddling in people's lives. He was" he hesitated. "He was responsible for Ivanova being captured in the first place. She hated him, and Psi Corps. Even if he didn't have another reason, he'd have enjoyed messing with her head. Be careful with him, Miz Travis, if he comes round again. He's dangerous." She nodded soberly.

"OK. But he was here, today, about about Harry." Reminded about what had happened, Sarah's grief flooded back, and she moved blindly towards the window. "It was just routine, he said, when a telepath was killed."

"Yeah, routine. But it ain't _his_ routine. Look, Bester shouldn't have come here. I want to know why he did." He fished a picture out of his jacket. "This is Ivanova. You ever seen anyone round here who looks like this?" Sarah took the paper gingerly, and inspected it intently. It was the kind of head and shoulders shot used for official ID. The woman in the picture was young and attractive, in a rather stern way, with a grim set to her lips. Her hair seemed dark and was pulled away sharply from her face. It tugged at Sarah's mind but she couldn't in all honesty say she had ever seen anyone like this. She shook her head reluctantly.

"I don't think so. I'm sorry." She handed the picture back.

"Yeah, well, it was a long shot." He seemed resigned to her answer. "Look, you hear anything Just, let me know, OK?"

"Sure. But you know - looking for her - she could be anywhere. She could be _anyone_. I hate to say it, but your odds are not looking good."

"Hey, unlike Ivanova, I like to hope for the best. I expect the worse, but I always have high hopes. Russian pessimism ain't my style." He turned to the door.

"Russian? Commander Ivanova was is Russian?"

"Yeah. Why?" Sarah closed the door firmly.

"This is going to sound completely nuts. But I need to tell you something."

_Hmm... could answers be forthcoming? Tune in for the next thrilling installment..._


	7. Part VII

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part VII**

"Harry and I had… well, not an argument, exactly. But… OK, look, I don't even understand it myself. It pretty much started when we were talking about something, and I…" She stopped, grimaced at Garibaldi, then continued. "I used this Russian word, that I've never heard of before. I didn't even know what it meant until I looked it up. And that's not all," she carried on, overriding Garibaldi's incipient protest. "I've been having dreams, for a while now. People and places I've never seen. The last time I saw Harry, I made him look in me, see what was going on. I had… not a vision, exactly, but thoughts. And I know this sounds stupid, but when I saw Bester coming up the drive, I knew. I just knew. They were about him. Oh, then Harry told me I was a telepath, too, but I think he may have just got a bit, you know, out there."

"I knew it! This has got Psi Corps's fingerprints all over it! I knew Bester…" He broke off as his communicator chimed. "Sorry, I better… Garibaldi here. Yes, I know, I'm here…Where?…Why would he…Oh, I get it…Yeah…He's there now?…OK, I'm on it. Thanks, Charlie!" He headed for the door. Sarah ran after him and grabbed his arm.

"Hey! Where're you going?"

"One of my guys was keeping an eye on Bester. He went to an old hospital about 3kms from here."

"So?"

"Apparently the place has been abandoned for years. He's looking for something." Garibaldi pulled free. "I've gotta go."

"Wait!" Sarah pulled a jacket off the hook by the door. "I'm coming too!"

"Look, lady, didn't you hear what I said about Bester? The man's dangerous."

"I don't care. If someone's been messing around with my brain, I want to know about it."

"I don't think you understand—"

"Like hell I don't! I'm going to that hospital, with or without you!" She stalked out of the front door, and Garibaldi watched her, a frown on his face that he shrugged off.

"OK. Don't say I didn't warn you. My transport's over here." They settled in, and Garibaldi set the computer to map the route to the hospital. "It'll only take a few minutes," he said, starting the engine.

"Mmm," responded Sarah absently. He glanced over at her.

"What? Second thoughts?"

"Huh? Oh, no. I was just thinking." She fell silent for a minute or two, then spoke again. "I was just wondering, how did Psi Corps screw with my head? And _why_? I mean, kidding aside, they'd need a reason, right?"

"I'm thinking Grey had a lot more to do with it than it seems," replied Garibaldi. "I mean, wham! You're seeing him then you're getting these…these visions. I think he had something to do with whatever happened to Ivanova, and he let it get to him. He, I don't know, somehow passed it to you."

"But that doesn't make sense. I was having them bef…"

"Here we are! And there's Bester's transpo." He pulled a hypospray out of a compartment above the door and checked it. "You've got to keep quiet. Bester's strong, he'll pick up on us, but hopefully not too soon. Ready?" Sarah nodded. This Bester, who made her uncomfortable as it was, seemed to be up to something, and if was something to do with what was in her head, she wasn't going to let it lie. She'd correct Garibaldi's mistake when they weren't in such a tense situation.

The hospital itself was in the traditional early 22nd century style that was now regarded as an architectural nightmare. A blank concrete façade presented itself to the road, with no signs of life except for the discrete black transport tucked away to one side. Garibaldi motioned for Sarah to stay behind him, and they crept into the hospital. After pausing a moment, to listen, Garibaldi gestured down one corridor, then beckoned for Sarah to follow him. Down the corridor they went, and Sarah could hear the muffled sounds of paper files. They stationed themselves outside the door, when a voice came from within.

"Ah, Mr Garibaldi. I am touched by your continued interest in my life." Garibaldi shrugged, and sauntered into the room.

"It's really not so much your _life_ I'm interested in," he replied. Bester raised a cynical brow, then suddenly frowned as awareness of Garibaldi's plan struck him. Too late, too late. The instinctive telepathic command he sent to Garibaldi's mind seemed to have no impact, and then the bigger man had him, and the contents of the hypospray were in his blood and he staggered.

"What?" he began, clinging to the desk.

"You know what, Bester. Next time you'll have to be a little quicker. Maybe you should consider working out some."

"You have…changed." Garibaldi grinned at him, unnecessarily cheerful.

"You mean that little noose you put in my mind. You know the one: Please let Bester control me. See, that seemed to be a pretty bad idea to me, and everyone agreed that you made me into a total psycho, so I had my people turn it off."

"You can't turn it off."

"And yet we did. Why are you here, Bester?"

"Why are you, Michael? Are you trying to redeem yourself?"

"Where is she, Bester?"

"Who are you talking about, Michael? Your comrade in arms? Your friend? The woman you betrayed to your enemies?"

"You're really starting to piss me off, Bester. And I can assure you, no-one likes me when I'm pissed off."

"I wonder, did she know? When Clark's forces captured her, when they tortured her, as they no doubt did. Did she know it was her friend who had…" Bester couldn't finish, chiefly because he was unconscious. Sarah stared in wide-eyed amazement at the unconscious man on the floor.

"I feel a peculiar sense of satisfaction," she said contentedly, then her gaze sharpened and she turned to Garibaldi. "What was all that stuff he was saying? About you being the one who betrayed Commander Ivanova?"

"It's not important," replied Garibaldi without looking up as he flicked through the files Bester had been searching.

"It sounded kinda important to me," returned Sarah mildly. As Garibaldi showed no signs of replying further, she slammed her palm down on the papers. "Tell me," she commanded. Garibaldi wiped a hand over his face and sighed.

"OK. Bester had me kidnapped by aliens, then fucked with my mind until I didn't know what was up, what was down, who my friends were or who my enemies were. I thought Sheridan and Ivanova were going too far and I was… persuaded that I should do something about it. I led Ivanova into a trap. But I would NEVER have done that if he," he pointed viciously at the unconscious Bester, "hadn't screwed me over. So, yeah, I'm feeling a whole lotta guilt that I betrayed one of my best friends and… Well, Bester wasn't kidding about the torture part. I… I have to find her." Sarah pulled her hand away.

"OK," she said gently. "Well, we can look through these and—Come on! Who uses paper records any more? What's with this?" Garibaldi shrugged, leafing through them.

"It's old fashioned, but no-one hacks themselves into a piece of paper. As long as you can keep the paper somewhere safe, nobody's going to have a clue. We're lucky Bester knew where to look for it." He indicated the broken panel behind which the papers had obviously been hidden. "It would've taken a while to find that."

"Mm. Look, I meant to tell you in the transpo. The whole thing with Harry – I don't think he had anything to do with the Commander. And I…"

"Jesus, it's here! They put her name down and everything – that's confident. And stupid."

"…started having the dreams months – years before I met him…"

"Fuck. Mindwiping. I knew it would be something like that. Doesn't say where they took her afterwards. She could be… What?"

"…so I still don't know why I'm having them. What did you find?"

"They performed surgery on her as well. They never wanted anyone to find her. She could be anyone." His eyes narrowed as he processed what Sarah had just said, and he rose suddenly, assessing her intently. Sarah looked puzzled.

"What?"

"She could be you."

_Ah, it all seems so simple..._


	8. Part VIII

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part VIII**

"WHAT? Are you NUTS?" Garibaldi quickly skirted the table to stand beside her.

"No, listen. That would explain the 'dreams' you've been having – they're your memories."

"Yeah. OK. Or they're my dreams and my memories are those things I actually remember."

"It's part of the mindwiping! They remove everything and then implant these fake memories and…"

"Garibaldi, no! No, no and no! Look, I understand that you're… desperate to find Ivanova, but this is completely insane."

"Sarah"

"I remember everything. My parents, my friends, where I grew up."

"But I bet your parents are dead, right?" Sarah looked at him, her expression a mixture of triumph and sympathy.

"No. They're very much alive. I talk to them all the time."

"Have you seen them recently?"

"Well, no, but…"

"They could be fake, too." Garibaldi took Sarah's arm. "Think about this seriously, Sarah. Everything you think you remember could have all been put there a few years ago." Sarah pulled free, and backed away to the door.

"No. Jeez, I know what's in my head," she said, ignoring for the moment that recently she _didn't_ know what was in her head. "This is so screwed. I mean," she continued, as Garibaldi tried to interrupt, "come on, I didn't even remind you of Ivanova at all, did I? There wasn't even a flicker of 'hmm, I wonder'. Don't you think there would have been if I _was_ her? And as for my dreams, we don't even know that they're anything to do with her. Let's face it: I took the idea of her being Russian and ran with it. I was probably leaping to conclusions, and then we both got a bit carried away. I don't see…"

"You said you saw a face."

"Yeah, but.." she tailed off as Garibaldi approached her again, pulling a data pad from his jacket, and accessing a file.

"Say stop when you recognise it," he ordered intently. Sarah rolled her eyes, but watched as he flicked through the images. The first was Sheridan, easily recognisable, not withstanding the caption at the top. The next was an older man simply marked as Ivanov. The commander's father? More pictures passed, none that were familiar. And then:

"Shit."

"Him? He was the one you saw?" Sarah leant against the door frame, suddenly feeling completely uncertain. How could everything she remembered, everything she _was_, be a lie? It couldn't!

"Who is he?" she asked tentatively. Maybe he was someone well-known, someone she would have seen on a vid or something. Maybe…maybe…maybe…

"Stephen Franklin. Chief of the medlab on Babylon 5. And honestly, unless you have a hidden passion for xenobiology, I don't know how you could possible have recognised him."

"This can't be happening."

"Yeah, well, it is."

"Fine, but how do I know that? Maybe this is all an invention in my head." Her tone was bitter, and Garibaldi winced.

"I know this seems a lot to take in, but it all fits. There's a…a nexus here. Grey getting killed, Bester showing up… It's because of you."

"Because of… wait, you're saying Harry's death was my fault? That he was killed because of me?"

"Yes! No, no that's not what I meant, OK?"

"Yes it is! He was hiding something… _I_ was hiding something? I don't understand what's going on here." Unfortunately, Garibaldi didn't look like he knew much better.

"I don't know. Maybe he just saw what you saw and… maybe it didn't even matter. Maybe he just reported you as being a telepath, and it flagged you on someone's radar."

"Telepath? What are you talking about?"

"Isn't that what Grey said?" Sarah was silent, remembering her last night with Harry. _"No. It was you. You forced that connection; it wasn't me."_

"Yes," she said quietly. "He thought so."

"So was Ivanova. She hid it; she wasn't strong. Some of us knew. There's too much going on here for it to be a coincidence." Sarah sighed.

"I know. I just can't believe that I—" She stopped abruptly as Garibaldi pushed her against a wall and laid a finger against her lips.

"We've got company," he murmured. He listened for a moment. "Coming in, front and back. We've gotta get out of here." He nodded towards the window. "Come on." He flung the papers back in the box, and lifted it, then crossed to the window and tried to open it. Sarah watched nervously, conscious of the footsteps drawing ever closer.

"Faster!" she hissed, as Garibaldi struggled with the door.

"Who the fuck designed these things?" he demanded, thrusting the box at her. "Stand back!" He cast a quick glance at Bester, still lying unconscious on the floor in front of the window, and shrugged uncaringly. He aimed his elbow at the glass of the window and it shattered under the pressure. "Quickly!" he urged, no longer bothering to moderate the volume of his voice: the crash of glass had the footsteps running. He boosted Sarah out of the window, then followed quickly, as a burst of PPG fire heralded the arrival of the latest visitors to the hospital.

"Come on!" Grabbing Sarah by the hand, Garibaldi set off at a run, round the opposite side to where his transpo was, well aware that it would be guarded and probably disabled. Instead, he made a beeline for Bester's in the hopes that they hadn't noticed it. His hunch paid off, and he hustled Sarah into the empty vehicle, overriding the security with an ease that would worry any law-abiding citizen. He drove away as quietly as possible. Unfortunately, a mile or so down the road, it became apparent that Bester – or the Corps – wasn't so lax about security. The transport slowed down to a nail-bitingly slow pace, then stopped altogether.

"It's locked!" exclaimed Sarah, pushing against the door. "I can't get out!" Her voice was panicky, and Garibaldi looked at her in surprise.

"Hey, don't worry about it! Hang on two shakes and I'll…" He suited action to word, and popped the doors, but a closer inspection of the central computer showed that it would take a while to hack it and that was 'a while' they didn't have, as over the crest of the hill came a quickly moving vehicle.

"Oh God," murmured Sarah fatalistically. "We're going to die."

"Sarah! Sarah Travis! Fancy seeing you out here."

"Having car trouble, Miss Travis?" The owner of the last voice blanched as Garibaldi turned, the PPG in his hand plainly visible, until he pushed it in a pocket and tried to look innocent. "Everything OK, Miss Travis?" Sarah smiled charmingly at the newcomers.

"Why, Louisa Hammond! What a surprise! Hello, Mr Hammond. Everything's fine, except Ga- Michael's wretched transport has decided not to work. Could you possibly give us a lift?" Tony Hammond looked hesitant, but Louisa had no such qualms.

"Of course, honey! Climb right in!" They did so, and Mr Hammond drove off. Not a moment too soon, as it happened, for through the back window, Garibaldi and Sarah saw three vehicles approaching the silent unmoving hulk of Bester's transpo. A few seconds was all it took for them to see that their targets had disappeared, and no longer than that to realise they must be in the departing machine.

"Shit!" said Garibaldi. "They're not giving up." He grinned at Sarah. "They must want you real bad."

"Want her? Why would anyone want Sarah?" demanded Louisa from the front. "Sarah, what on earth is going on? First poor Harry is killed right in your front room, and now you're running around with this…" Her gaze took in the dishevelled appearance of Michael Garibaldi, and sneered. "This _bum_." She ignored his insulted expression and carried on unheedingly. "I don't know what's come over you!"

"Louisa, now really isn't the time to… Christ!" Sarah's exclamation could perhaps be forgiven as their transpo was certainly rocketed out of control as one of the pursuing vehicles rammed into the back. It happened again, then a third time. Mr Hammond swore.

"I've had enough of this!"

_Ooh, what _will_ happen next?_


	9. Part IX

_Just a little part this time..._

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part IX**

Ten minutes later, after a somewhat circuitous route, Garibaldi, Sarah and the Hammonds were once again on the outskirts of Calloway. Garibaldi eyed Tony Hammond with suspicion. Whoever had been following them knew what they were doing, but they'd been outsmarted by a pro. He said so and Tony shrugged.

"Fifteen years in EarthForce'll do that for you."

"Resigned?"

"A while ago now. Wanted to spend more time with my family." He stretched out a hand to pet Louisa's leg. "Anyway, here's your place, Sarah. I guess… What the…?"

"Well, they found you," remarked Garibaldi drily at the sight of half-a-dozen soldiers on Sarah's once-pristine front lawn. "Do us a favour, Hammond, keep driving."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Louisa, swivelling in her seat. "Sarah, what are those people doing in your front yard? I'm sure if you just talk to them… Tony, stop! Where are you going?"

"Anywhere that's not here," he replied tersely. "Garibaldi's right; we shouldn't stop." He spared a glance for his wife, and smiled. "Don't worry, sweetheart."

"Actually," contradicted Garibaldi, as he watched the diminishing soldiers out of the rear window, "I think you probably should worry. Someone's probably running the vehicle's tags already." Tony Hammond's mouth tightened.

"What in God's name are you mixed up in, Sarah?" Sarah simply shook her head mutely. She had had about as much as she could take. First the weirdness of the dreams, then Harry, now the possibility that her whole life was a lie and she was a kidnapped, brain-washed, telepathic Russian EarthForce commander. It was all because she didn't have enough calcium in her diet. The doctor had warned her, only last month. Sarah, he had said, you need more calcium in your diet. See what happens when you disregard professional advice.

"Hey! Snap out of it!" Garibaldi's harsh tones distracted Sarah from calcium, and she frowned at him.

"I'm about as far out of it as we can get. This has all been just a little too much, Garibaldi."

"Yeah, I know. Look, you know what we found… You just can't ignore it." Sarah considered the possibility. But Garibaldi, curse him, was right. She _couldn't_ ignore it.

"Mm. So, what now?"

"We need to cross-check some information. Run some tests, that sorta thing. But we can't do it here; not when the mob's after you."

"Where, then?"

"Babylon 5."

_Ooh, we're getting so close..._


	10. Part X

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part X**

It speaks volumes about Sarah's day that, when faced with Garibaldi's proposal to go to an unknown space station, she didn't bat an eye. Sure, it seemed a little extreme, but with soldiers running after her and messing up her front yard, space looked to be a pretty good option. She merely shrugged.

"You delight in turning everything upside down," she said resignedly. Garibaldi grinned.

"You always say--" He stopped. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Do you really think I'm her?" asked Sarah quietly. "It made sense when you said it earlier, but it just seems all so unlikely. I-I'm me. I don't feel like Ivanova." Her mind flashed back to the incident in the school yard when she had lambasted those bullies, but before she could think any further, Tony interrupted.

"Ivanova?" His voice was sharp, and Garibaldi's eyes narrowed.

"What about her?"

"Nothing. I just what did Sarah mean? Why would she feel like Ivanova?"

"How the hell do you know who Ivanova is?" Garibaldi's hackles had most definitely risen, and Tony looked irritated.

"Give me a break, man! You say you're taking Sarah to Babylon 5; it doesn't take a genius to make the connection. Commander Ivanova, right? Ran the station under Sheridan? Declared missing during the attack against Clark? That Ivanova?" Garibaldi nodded grudgingly.

"Yeah. You like to keep your ear to the ground?" Tony heaved a sigh of exasperation, chiefly designed to indicate to Garibaldi his extreme annoyance.

"Who doesn't? But what did Sarah mean about _feeling like_ her? And what the hell are those guys after her for?"

"Please just tell us what's going on!" exclaimed Louisa suddenly, her voice hysterical. Tony stroked her leg again.

"It's OK, honey," he said soothingly. "Look, I'll drop you off at home. Don't worry about a thing-" He broke off as he pulled into their road. Garibaldi grinned wryly at the sight of the men already surrounding what he assumed was the Hammonds' house.

"Not really an option," he remarked, ignoring the dirty look he got in return.

"Tommy!" shrieked Louisa as the implication of the black-clad men on her driveway sunk in. "Tony, what about Tommy?" She started sobbing loudly, with Tony doing his best to comfort her one-handedly. Garibaldi stood it as long as possible - about three seconds - then leaned forward.

"Calm down! Who the hell is Tommy?"

"Our son," replied Tony, tersely. Sarah pushed Garibaldi away and leaned forward in his place.

"Where is he?" she asked, an expression of worry on her face. Tommy, God help him, might be a holy terror in her classroom, but he was basically a sweet kid.

"With Sherry Kiehler. We have to go get him. That is," he added, casting a look of extreme dislike at Garibaldi, "assuming you don't have any objections." Garibaldi shrugged.

"As long as you're fast. It won't take them long to find out about him." At his words, Louisa wailed even louder, and even Sarah found she was feeling rather unsympathetic. Tony merely nodded, and accelerated.

"Sherry doesn't live far. We should get there before they even know Tommy exists." True to his word, they reached the Kiehler house within ten minutes and there was no sign that they had been pre-empted. Putting the brake on, Tony climbed out, and was about to go round to open Louisa's door when he stopped, hesitating. Louisa, still in the grips of near-hysterical crying was not going to present an unsuspicious front, and Tony didn't want them to be delayed by Sherry trying to comfort his wife. Instead, he leaned down. "I'll be back in a minute, sweetheart."

Once he was gone, Garibaldi consulted his data pad. "There's a shuttle leaving for the station in two hours," he told Sarah. "We should be able to make it. The pilot's a pal of mine: there shouldn't be any problems. Once we're on Babylon 5, whoever those guys are, they won't be able to touch you. I'll contact Sheridan once we're out of the atmosphere. I'll say this for him: he's got serious political clout, these days." Sarah nodded.

"Fine." She bounced in her seat. "It's kinda exciting - I've never been off world before!" She caught Garibaldi's glance and smiled ruefully. "Well, that I remember, anyway."

"Why would anyone want to go into space?" asked Louisa petulantly, abandoning her tears suddenly. "Full ofof aliens, and heaven knows what. I don't know why people would want to leave Earth."

"Yeah, well, takes all kinds," replied Garibaldi laconically, jerking his head at Sarah as if to say 'what's with her?' Sarah merely rolled her eyes, but forbore to say more, as Tony was just leaving the house, Tommy's hand in his. They waved to the woman in the doorway, then got quickly in the transpo, Tommy complaining about the change of plans. He had, apparently, just been on the verge of world domination in a game of 'Galaxy Master' and resented forfeiting his victory.

"I wanna go back!" he shouted. Louisa, somewhat to Garibaldi's surprise, proved adept at dealing with her son, and after a blatant bribery war, Tommy agreed to sit silently on his mother's lap, peering over her shoulder to inspect the stranger. Garibaldi pulled a face, and Tommy laughed.

"Nice kid," he said, and meant it. Louisa was only marginally mollified.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "Now, Tony, Sarah and her friend need to catch a shuttle transport, so I suggest we drop them off at Lancaster and get home before supper." Tony exchanged glances with Garibaldi in his rear visor and coughed apologetically.

"Thing is, I'm not sure we should be going home right now," he explained. Louisa gazed blankly at him.

"Not go home? What on earth do you mean? Where else do you suppose we should go."

"At this precise moment," replied Tony, "I think we kinda have to go to Babylon 5, too."

_They will get there soon, promise!_


	11. Part XI

**These Blue Remembered Hills **

Part XI 

It can hardly come as a surprise to anyone that Louisa was not open to the idea of travelling to, as she put it, "outer space". She argued, she cried, she pleaded and eventually resorted to sulking in the final quarter of an hour before they reached the base at Lancaster. Tommy, on the other hand, was quite delighted, chiefly because he saw in this adventure his opportunity to become Master of the Galaxy for real. 

Stranger things have happened. 

"If those people are after us, what's going to happen when they check our idents?" asked Louisa suddenly as they neared the base, glaring pointedly at Sarah and Garibaldi, as if to emphasise that this was entirely their fault. Tony shrugged. 

"Garibaldi?" 

"Let's just say the pilot's a friend. You don't need to worry about a thing." Louisa snorted. It was quite plain that she placed no reliance whatsoever on Garibaldi's words. 

"I'm sorry, Tony, but I still don't see why we need to go into space, for Heaven's sake! Why can't we go to my parents'?" 

"Because they'll check your parents' place first off," explained Tony, his formerly patient tone having morphed into something less patient and more pissed off. "Jeez, Louisa, just trust me, will you? It'll be fine." 

"How?" demanded Louisa. "How is it going to be fine, hmm? I mean, what's going to happen to make them stop looking for us? We should just go home, tell them what happened, and everything will be back to normal." 

"You willing to bet Tommy's life on that?" said Garibaldi sharply, hoping to high heaven that the implied threat would silence Louisa. It worked, though he felt a shimmer of guilt as a shadow darkened Louisa's eyes and she hugged Tommy tighter until he squirmed and protested. "Look," he said, conciliatory. "Once we get to the station, Stephen – Dr Franklin – will run some tests on Sarah, confirm that she's really Ivanova, and release the information to the media. I'll do some checking, but at that stage you should be good to go back." 

"This all seems so fantastical," murmured Sarah dreamily, gazing out of the window at the Lancaster atmo base. "I'm about to go in a real spaceship." 

"You ever see one before?" asked Garibaldi, curiously. It was almost too bizarre to see this woman as Ivanova. Ivanova, who had learned to fly when she was a kid. Ivanova, who had clocked up more hours flying Starfuries than any other officer he knew. Ivanova, who had commanded White Star ships against the Shadows, and then against Earth's own forces. 

"I usually bring the KG class in the summer. The base has an educational programme – it's great for the kids. I've never been in one actually going anywhere." 

"Why would anyone want to?" asked Louisa bitterly. "If we had never gone into space, I tell you, this planet would have a lot less problems. Did you see that report about the money that gets spent on Babylon 5?" 

"Yeah," replied Garibaldi sympathetically. "All those pesky aliens, taking jobs that should be for humans. Living off the government! The record never changes." 

"We're here," interrupted Tony, anxious to head off another argument. "Where's our shuttle?" Garibaldi checked his data pad. 

"Hangar 29. Should be down the other end." They reached the hangar without incident, and climbed out of the transpo. Garibaldi hailed the pilot, who was lolling lazily against a maintenance panel. 

"Hey, Jack, you ready?" Jack shifted so that he was upright and raised a hand in greeting. 

"Garibaldi," he said laconically, glancing at the others. "You all going?" Garibaldi nodded. 

"Yep. That OK?" Jack shrugged and remained silent, hitting the door release. He went forward to the pilot's seat, and Garibaldi motioned the others to climb aboard. 

"How long is this going to take?" grumbled Louisa as she settled Tommy in. 

"About six hours in hyperspace," replied Sarah absently as she looked about her with interest. Garibaldi's eyebrows quirked, but he said nothing. No point in making her self-conscious about it. The journey passed uneventfully, largely in silence. The circumstances were such that none of the travellers felt particularly chatty. Except Tommy, of course, but he was happy to hold a conversation with very little response. After about six hours, Jack's voice startled them as he announced briefly that they were approaching the jump gate for Babylon 5. Sarah clutched the arm of her seat, her stomach roiling with anticipation: excitement and a little fear washed in adrenaline. The jump point formed; they sailed through. 

Backlit against stars and suns, Babylon 5 hung, seemingly motionless except for the rotating blocks providing the artificial gravity. It was a huge metallic cylinder, inanimate, soulless. 

But Sarah felt it in her very heart: home. 

_To be continued..._


	12. Part XII

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far - it's greatly appreciated! Wicked Elvira - hope this answers your question! Hilary - thanks for the correct - will amend the last part accordingly! muses Either that, or claim to have created some huge technological advance in the ways of hyperspace..._

**These Blue Remembered Hills **

Part XII 

Home it might be, but Sarah found herself gawking at the station as much as any first-time visitor as they passed the security checks. Well, 'passed' as in 'waved past' – the security officer on guard took one look at Michael Garibaldi and let them through without demur, and though appreciating the ease with which they could enter the station, Sarah was aware of a niggling irritation: no wonder they sometimes didn't have a clue who was on Babylon 5! But this… She looked around with awe. It was so much more that she had imagined. 

A disturbance distracted her at the end of the arrivals area. A group of people approached, and Sarah recognised, with a jolt, the face of Interstellar Alliance President John Sheridan. Excitement and a feeling of intimidation played inside her, only to be swept aware by affection and a tinge of sadness. 

"John," she murmured, stepping forward, then halting, confused, as he looked at her quizzically. 

"Michael?" he said eventually, the question he wanted to ask only too evident. Garibaldi grinned. 

"It's her, John. I found her." 

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa 

John Sheridan sat back on the sofa in his quarters and took the drink that Delenn offered. 

"Do you think Michael has really found her?" asked Delenn softly, as the silence between them grew. John shrugged. 

"Michael seems pretty convinced." Delenn smiled, and sat beside him. 

"But what do you feel? You know Susan better than anyone else here. What does your heart tell you?" John groaned, and shot his wife a telling look. 

"I don't know, Delenn! I just… I wish I could tell. She doesn't look much like Susan, but then she doesn't look particularly _not_ like her." He laughed wryly. "And I'm not making much sense. According to what Michael found out, whoever it was who took her changed her so much that we wouldn't recognise her. And a mindwipe on top. I can't help but wonder if Ivanova even exists any more." As Delenn made to interrupt, he continued. "It's like that old problem they throw at you in Philosophy 101: if a boat is remade over time, plank by plank, until everything is different to what it was originally, is it still the same boat? After all they did to her: changing her body, erasing her mind – is she still Ivanova?" 

There was silence. 

"And is it still the same boat?" asked Delenn. John laughed. 

"I don't know." 

"Michael says she has been dreaming. Remembering. I think Susan remains inside her." John grinned, feeling more upbeat. 

"Yeah, well, if anyone could hang on, it would be her. 

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa 

Stephen Franklin looked at his current patient with interest. So, this was Ivanova, was it? A quick glance told him that, superficially at least, it was possible, given what Garibaldi had told him. Similar bone structure, not dissimilar facial features. Her hair was darker, but that was easy to change. Her features were softer, less bold, than Ivanova's had been. Her voice was lighter, less clipped, but again not that different. All those things could be changed, relatively easily, though. Just looking at her wouldn't confirm anything. 

"Ready?" he asked with a smile, dispassionately, the consummate bedside manner. She nodded, her nervousness evident. Ah, that was the difference, then. In personality, not looks. 

Ivanova would never have let her nerves show to a stranger. He started the first test. 

But then, if she was Ivanova, he wasn't a stranger. Results passed to the computer. He started the second test. 

_And what will the tests show? Ooh, the tension..._


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I don't know if anyone will still be reading, but here's hoping. _

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part XIII**

Inconclusive. A fat lot of use that was, Sarah thought grumpily as she sat on the hard grey couch in one of Babylon 5's conference rooms. Inconclusive didn't tell you anything except someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to remove all traces of Susan Ivanova's medical results from official records. And not just during the conflict between Babylon 5 and EarthGov, but afterwards. Recently, too, according to Michael Garibaldi, who had been wearing his I'm-going-to-stand-and-watch-Bester-burn look when he relayed the news. Or maybe it was his I'm-going-to-set-fire-to-Bester-and-laugh-over-his-dying-body look. They were easily confused. But the fact remained that there was nothing against which to compare the results of the endless tests Dr Franklin had performed. There were Sarah's own records, of course, but Garibaldi had waved them aside as being far too easy to fake.

"We need something – anything," John Sheridan said to the company gathered in the conference room. "How can we tell if she's Susan?"

"Not through anything medical, not at the moment," Stephen said, shrugging helplessly. "I don't have anything on Susan – the records have been wiped clean. I've done what I can, but there's nothing to indicate what kind of surgery she might have had, and I'm going to have to get hold of some pretty classified EarthGov reports to find out what their capabilities were."

"Set it up," John nodded decisively. "I'll clear it with EarthGov. What about the mindwipe."

"There's nothing we can do to reverse it," Stephen said. "It's reversible, I think, but not with our current technology. We need Lyta."

"What effect will it have on Sarah if she's not Susan?" asked Delenn. Sarah looked at her, surprised.

"Why should it have any effect?" The others exchanged glances.

"Lyta – she's not like other telepaths," said Garibaldi finally. "She's way beyond anything anyone else on Earth can do – Bester included. If anyone can break a mindwipe, it would be her. But it's not likely to be pleasant." Sarah paled, and wondered just what exactly she had let herself in for. Three days ago her life had been normal – well, as normal as it could be with the crazy visions and speaking Russian without realizing it. Now… now it was out of control. But she had to know. Had to have this resolved. She nodded.

"OK."

"Where _is_ Lyta?" asked Stephen. "Last I heard she was out on the Rim somewhere." Garibaldi winked.

"Oh, I can get her back here," he said, "don't worry about that."

"Will it be long?" asked Sarah tentatively. "Only… well, the Rim sounds an awful long way away, and as far as I know there are soldiers round my house, and Louisa and Tony and Tommy are stuck here and…" She broke off, trying to hide a giggle at Garibaldi's expression.

"That woman! She has not shut up since they got here! Ronaldson in C&C has blocked her links, she's made such a nuisance of herself."

"It's a difficult position for her to be in," said Delenn diplomatically, though Sarah knew she too had found Louisa's semi-hysterical behaviour disturbing, not to mention the other woman's downright xenophobia.

"Difficult my ass!" exclaimed John, less tolerant. "Still, once this is sorted they can go home."

"And good riddance," put in Garibaldi, only to grow silent, his gaze fixed on the doorway. Sarah turned in her seat to see a man standing there, staring at her. He was tall and thin, with black hair and beard, the whole wrapped in a voluminous black cloak, its only relief a stone brooch to one side. She shifted uncomfortable. Whoever this was, he was looking at her as if she were both angel and demon, sent to torment him. She stayed sitting, though the others had all risen to their feet, and watched as Delenn crossed to meet the stranger.

"We did not expect you, Marcus."

_To be continued – promise!_


	14. Part XIV

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part XIV**

She doesn't know who he is, and thinks that maybe she should. No-one's mentioned him before, but she can tell – she _knows_ – just from looking from him that's he's important. To _her_. Sarah wonders if she should feel more, but there's no recognition, no flare of knowledge, not like she felt with John.

"Of course I came," said the man – Marcus, his eyes never leaving Sarah. He brushed past Delenn, and advanced, eager and hesitant at the same time. "Are you… it's you, isn't it?"

Sarah shrugged, unsure what to say. She wasn't convinced that she was Susan Ivanova. That is, she _was_ convinced, sort of, but somehow not enough to say it to Marcus. And then, suddenly, magically, she was sure, because this was _Marcus_, who was crazy, and probably deserved shoving out of the nearest available airlock, but still unmistakably himself, and she smiled out of relief, watching as he smiled back. Anything they might want to say had to wait, however, because that moment Louisa Hammond came storming in, holding the thin sheet of newspaper that the station's news systems produced.

"Look!" she demanded. "Look at this!" She flung the newspaper down on the long table, and stabbed at a headline with a finger that shook with the curious combination of fear and anger that had encompassed her since arriving on Babylon 5. "They're saying we're _criminals_! Fugitives! Sarah, how could you _do_ this to us?" And she began to weep, while Sarah watched, aghast, still unused to the older woman's rampant emotionalism. She had never seen Louisa cry in Calloway, not once, not even close. Louisa Hammond wasn't the kind of woman who gave into emotion like that. On Babylon 5, it seemed, the old rules didn't apply.

Garibaldi, meanwhile, had swiped the newspaper, and was reading the article. He snorted derisively, and passed it to John.

"Someone's getting desperate," he said blandly.

"And stupid," agreed John, dropping the paper back on the table. "They must know she's here, and there's nothing they can do about it." Torn between Louisa Hammond's tears, and whatever was in the paper, Sarah abandoned Louisa as a losing battle, and read an account of how she had murdered her lover and fled to Babylon 5, her accomplices with her.

"Well," she said, deliberately calm, though she couldn't hide how much her hands were shaking, "for me, personally, this adds a note of urgency to the proceedings." John patted her on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, you're safe here," he said reassuringly. "But if someone's willing to go this far to attempt a cover-up, Michael, maybe you'd better…"

"Already on it," said Garibaldi, tapping his link and ordering increased security for Sarah, but Marcus raised his hand, his gaze never having left Sarah.

"I'll do it," he said softly, and Sarah could tell, right there and then, that he had been… no, he _was_ in love with Susan Ivanova. With her. Probably. Huh. Tricky.

"OK," she said, mainly because it didn't seem fair to deprive him of his task, not when he standing there, eyes burning into hers, looking like some sort of latter-day Rasputin, only hopefully not, y'know, evil.

"Nothing's OK!" wailed Louisa, and Sarah, distracted from Marcus, patted her helplessly on her back, wondering once again how the mere act of being in space (it seemed) had turned the woman who was the moving force behind the PTA and the scourge of the council's attempts to reduce funding for the elementary school, into a hysterical idiot.

"Call Tony," she said when her patting failed to produce any result.

"Already done it," said Garibaldi, and Tony appeared a minute later, drawing aside his wife, and grimacing apologetically at the collected company. "The man's a saint," he added as the Hammonds departed. "Anyway, doesn't look like there's much more we can do now." He cocked an eyebrow at John, who shook his head.

"Not really. We need to get Lyta back here. Marcus, you'll keep an eye on Sarah? And Michael, you got anyone who'd know who started the story about Sarah killing Grey? Might give us a lead on who's behind this."

"Give you ten guesses," said Garibaldi, but he nodded agreeably all the same.

"OK, then. Now, I suggest everyone get some rest. And Marcus – don't let her out of your sight."

Ten minutes later, as they neared her quarters, Sarah was uncomfortably aware that Marcus had every intention of doing just that – literally. The warm flush of recognition had died down, and now she was slightly freaked out by the intense regard of someone who was, as far as she was concerned, pretty much a stranger.

"So," she began brightly, in the voice generally reserved for defusing small children about to launch into some sort of tantrum, "what can you do around…"

And then there was noise and confusion, and a hard jarring as she was flung to the ground, followed by the unsettling sensation of being stifled in Marcus's all-encompassing black cloak (a cloak? Who wore a cloak these days?), and Sarah realised, almost without surprise, that someone had just tried to shoot her.

_Hehe – look at that. An update in less than two years. Go me. More to come soon…_


	15. Part XV

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part XV**

Hmm. Maybe a touch less Rasputin, and more avenging angel, thought Sarah consideringly, the next day, as the senior members of the old conspiracy gathered once again in the conference room. Marcus had spent the night looming over her, first in medlab when Stephen checked her out, and then in her quarters, where one of Garibaldi's men had been stationed the door. Even her, in the centre of what was presumably the safest place she could be, he was looming. She sighed internally. It hadn't really gone well. No matter how she tried, she couldn't remember him, couldn't remember how she had felt about him. There was just… nothing. She shifted uncomfortably, and tried to pay attention to what the others were saying.

"…no chance," Garibaldi was finishing up. "He's probably in Down Below by now. I've got my guys sweeping the decks, and Miko's going over the security footage from that level. It was pretty crowded but we should get something. Ronaldson's closed down outgoing transports for the time being, but we can't keep that up for long."

"Did you find out anything about who planted the story about Sarah?" asked John.

"Yeah – and it's a weird thing," said Garibaldi. "I was expecting to find our friend Bester's dirty little fingerprints all over it, but there's not a sign, and he doesn't usually manage subtle. Man likes to gloat. From what I can gather, the security people in Indiana were leaned on by the governor. After that it gets a bit hazy, but I got ahold of someone in his office, and they say it came from the Senate."

"The Senate!"

"Exactly. I'm not sure that the Psi Cops are behind all this, not completely. I mean, sure, Bester's up to something – when isn't he? – but I don't know that it's him this time."

"So, what? That was some kind of political assassination attempt?" Sarah's tone was politely disbelieving. "Come on! What would that achieve?"

"I'm not sure," said John slowly. "But someone's definitely going to a lot of effort to make sure no-one finds out Ivanova is alive."

"Maybe we should go public now," said Stephen, steepling his fingers in front of him. "That should stop it."

"But it might not," argued Garibaldi. "And it's not like we have any proof as things stand at the moment."

"Michael's right," agreed John. "We've got to wait."

"Yeah, wait until someone bumps me off in the middle of the night," Sarah added, unimpressed by the plan. "I'm not really liking the part where people want to KILL me. Just a personal preference, I'm sure, but there you go."

"You'll be fine." Garibaldi flapped a hand dismissively, and she fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him. She liked Garibaldi; he was a nice guy. But a little more concern over her personal safety wouldn't go amiss.

"I won't let anything happen to you," said Marcus, intensely. She gave him a thumbs-up, only mildly sarcastic in nature. Because, after all, he had saved from getting shot the night before, which wins any man points.

"Maybe we could set up some sort of decoy," said Garibaldi, winking at her. "Oh, hey, I know. We'll make up Louisa to look like you. Gee, it would be a shame if someone assassinated her, but she'd be dying for a good cause." Sarah giggled.

"That's not fair."

"She _did_ cause a diplomatic incident with the Centauri earlier this morning," John pointed out mildly. "I don't want to say she's a liability, but…"

"No-one is setting Louisa up as a decoy," said Sarah firmly, repressing any urge to go along with the plan. "Look, when's this Lyta person getting here, the one who's supposed to sort out my head?"

"Someone call?" Everyone turned to face the entrance. Garibaldi grinned.

"Impressively pat entrance."

"I try." The newcomer sauntered in. She was dressed in plain, functional clothes that showed signs of considerable wear, and though her demeanour was tired, her eyes were still lively. She looked at Sarah with interest. "So, you're our mindwiped Ivanova, huh? I'm Lyta Alexander." They shook hands, and Sarah wondered if she was being scanned right there and then. "Let's see what we can do about that, shall we?"

"Not here," interrupted Stephen. "I've seen you do this before, Lyta. Medlab, please. I want to keep an eye on her vitals."

"Stephen, I didn't know you cared." And with that, they decamped to Medlab.

B5B5B5B5B5B5B5B5B5B5B5B5

Sitting on an exam table, with electrode tabs attached to every part of her, Sarah wondered why she had thought this was a plan. Surely it would be much wiser to go back home, let the police do their job and find out that she had nothing to do with Harry's death, and forget she ever heard the name Susan Ivanova. Because Lyta's eyes had gone black, and that was a level of freaky-weird she had yet to encounter.

"Stay very calm," said Lyta, her own voice calm to the point of monotone. "It will probably hurt."

"OK," said Sarah, not even trying to hide the tremor in her voice. Lyta approached, and raised her hands to Sarah's temples, pressing lightly at first, then more firmly. For a moment there was nothing, and then…

…_the giant cylinders of Babylon 5, suspended silently in space… home… Marcus, just as he was… John's face… remembering him, hunched up at his desk, protesting against rent increases…a wash of fondness as he offered her real coffee… Bester's face, and a rage she can't even put a name to… further back, Stephen smiling at her in Medlab… the children at school, playing with paints and the one day they had painted her… sitting through endless staff meetings… making love with Harry… rowing with her mother about dying her hair when she was fifteen… attending the prom in her sophomore year, and feeling so damned proud that her boyfriend was a senior…crying her eyes out when their dog, Carter, died when she was twelve…_

Memory after memory seemed to come pouring into her head, drawn out by the black strings of Lyta Alexander's mind, until suddenly it broke off, and Sarah was jerked back to reality, to the glaring lights of Medlab and the faces of people she should know. Rubbing her shaking hands on her thighs, she looked up at Lyta.

"I… should I be different now? How does it work?" She didn't see the confused faces of the others as Lyta slowly shook her head.

"No, I… you're not her. You're not Ivanova."

_Golly. More to come soon…_


	16. Part XVI

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part XVI**

"They're not her memories," Lyta explained, sitting down herself. "There are a few of them, floating on the surface, but just that – floating. Pull, and they're not attached to anything deeper. The rest of her – of Sarah – is all there. It's not a fake personality put in after a mindwipe, it's just who she is."

"I don't understand. How did she end up with Ivanova's memories?" Garibaldi looked accusingly at Sarah, as if he half-suspected her of having stolen them right out of Ivanova's head, and Sarah wanted to fling herself on the floor and cry and shout that it wasn't her fault, and she didn't understand _any_ of this. She didn't, of course. You can't really do that sort of thing when you're an adult.

"She doesn't know," replied Lyta quickly, casting a sympathetic glance at Sarah. "They just appear."

"What do you think?" asked John, his expression serious. Lyta shrugged.

"I'm not sure. They've been… placed there, I guess you'd say."

"Bester!" said Garibaldi explosively. "I knew that little…"

"I don't think so," Lyta interrupted him, head tilted to one side, consideringly. "It didn't feel that they'd been _forced_ there. More like they'd been thrown, and Sarah had caught them. I don't know, it doesn't seem to make much sense."

"None of this makes any sense," said Sarah blankly. "Can I go home now?" For once, John Sheridan looked indecisive.

"I don't know whether – Michael, what do you think? Would it be OK?" Garibaldi shook his head.

"I don't think so. Not until we've got this sorted out. My sources are sure that Ivanova is still alive somewhere. And from yesterday's attack, someone else is pretty sure she's alive as well."

"But that's only because of Harry and the scan thing, surely?" objected Sarah. "Isn't that how Mr Bester and everyone found out? Because of what Harry saw, I mean. So if we just say that it was all a mistake and… and…" she trailed off miserably. "No, I don't s'pose it would work." Garibaldi shook his head regretfully.

"'Fraid not. They'd probably think we were scamming them or something. No, we have to sort this out. We have to find Ivanova."

"And what if you can't?" demanded Sarah, suddenly angry that she should have been dragged into all this, when it seemed to have nothing to do with her after all. "I'm sorry, I know this sounds selfish, but what about me? What am I supposed to do while you're looking for her? I don't know if you missed it, but they think _I murdered someone_! I can't exactly just go back home as if nothing has happened."

"We'll sort something out. I promise," said Garibaldi, and no doubt stupid as it was, Sarah believed him. "Look, given what Lyta said, surely the most likely solution is that Sarah has actually _met_ Ivanova? If she's just been picking up stray memories." Lyta nodded thoughtfully.

"I would agree. Sarah has a similar low level of telepathic power to Ivanova; it's possible that they're on – well, the same wave-length, you might say. Sarah picked up on broadcast thoughts – like a radio tuned to nothing but still picking up random signals."

"When did you say this all started?" asked John. Sarah shrugged.

"About two – no, maybe three years ago."

"Do you remember anything peculiar happening then?" Sarah thought, but really, her life didn't lend itself to peculiarities.

"Not really. I mean, nothing really changes. I moved to Calloway, but that's… and that's probably it, isn't it?"

"The hospital where Ivanova was taken wasn't far from Calloway," said Garibaldi. "Do you think… surely they wouldn't have kept her so close."

"She can't be someone I know!" objected Sarah. "I mean, she just can't! Everyone is so normal in Calloway, it's ridiculous. The idea that one of them could be Ivanova – it's absurd!"

"Aren't there any woman who keep to themselves, anyone with any mystery to them. Anything at all?" Garibaldi was insistent now, and Sarah wasn't sure how to convince him that, earlier suspicions about her own identity to the contrary, Calloway was not somewhere where brainwashed ex-EarthForce commanders tended to lurk.

"Nobody! I promise you! The strangest behaviour I have _ever_ seen from _anyone_ from Calloway is… is… well, Louisa and her constant hysterics over the last couple of days. And even that stands out as exceptional. 'Cuz she's really the last person to carry on like that."

"She did freak out bigtime about going into space," said Garibaldi, suddenly thoughtful.

"You can say that again!" replied Sarah with feeling. "I never thought she had it in her, frankly. Usually she's pretty much in control of everything." Garibaldi exchanged a quick glance with John.

"Is she, now?"

"Yep. PTA, town residents' association, historical preservation committee, you name it. Louisa Hammond practically runs Calloway. But anyway, that's nothing to do with…"

"So she's never acted like this? Ever?"

"No, I just said," Sarah answered impatiently.

"Looks like something made her really, really not want to go off-planet." Sarah looked at him, bewildered.

"So she had some kind of childhood space trauma! Who cares? Please can we focus on finding Ivanova so that I can…" Realisation shone in her eyes, and she shook her head. "No. No. Absolutely, no way."

"Sarah…"

"No! She's married. She has a _child_!"

"Sarah…" Sarah crossed her arms defiantly.

"Louisa Hammond is _not_ Susan Ivanova."

_More soon, though probably not until after the weekend. Though maybe 2009. Just to keep to the pattern…_


	17. Part XVII

**These Blue Remembered Hills**

**Part XVII**

That Louisa Hammond was a completely different person to Susan Ivanova seemed to be a perfectly obvious and debate-free fact to Sarah, but apparently the Babylon 5 posse was of a different opinion.

"Physically, it's possible," said Stephen, stroking his chin.

"If she was mindwiped and specifically implanted with a strong resistance to going off-world, that would explain her behaviour," said Lyta.

"She's been around since you started having your visions, hasn't she?" asked Garibaldi, knowing full well the answer. Sarah wanted to say no, to say that she had definitely had a memory – a vision – whatever – long before she knew Louisa, but on reflection it wasn't actually true. But it was, of course, a coincidence.

"Yes, but so have lots of other people," she said, unwilling to lend any support to the enemy. "Truly, if you knew her, you wouldn't suggest it."

"So, tell us about her," John invited, and Sarah did so, sure that they would soon see the truth.

"Well, like I said, she's the head of the PTA, which is mainly how I know her. Her son, Tommy, is in my class. She can make you do anything, even stuff you don't want to, because it's so hard to say no to her. She's got her finger in every pie – seriously, nothing moves in Calloway without her knowing about it. And she always gets her own way, in everything. I mean, she set me and Harry up, and like I was going to go out with a Psi Corps guy, but I did anyway."

"What about her husband?" asked Garibaldi, suddenly realizing that under the circumstances Tony Hammond was not an irrelevancy. Sarah shrugged.

"I don't really know much about him. I mean, he used to be in EarthForce, and he and Louisa have been married – well, I'm not sure for how long, but as long as I've known them. They always seem happy; he adores her, I think. I mean, you'd have to."

"Don't you like her?" It was unexpected question, especially as Marcus had not said anything so far. But now he was almost smiling. Sarah thought about it.

"I'm not sure. Sometimes I think I hate her. And she intimidates me. But she's reliable, y'know? And she's not selfish, or out for herself. It's just… she's hard to know, I think. I'm not sure anyone really does. Why do you think she's Ivanova?"

Marcus said nothing, but Garibaldi grinned. "You know what she once said to me? There were all these changes on the station, conspiracies coming out of our asses. There were things that we hadn't told her; pretty major things. And it comes to the point where we have to tell her, and it turns out, she's known everything all along. And she says, 'The day something happens on Babylon 5 that I don't know about, worry.'" Sarah offered a weak smile.

"Sounds kinda like someone I know." She thought about it. "Not the part about Babylon 5, obviously." Garibaldi nodded, then crossed to a console on the wall, and requested Tony Hammond's EarthForce record. He read for a moment, then turned to the others.

"Hammond was stationed on Earth. Actual location classified, but he was registered with the base at Fort Victor."

"That's only an hour away," said Sarah.

"Out in the same direction as the hospital?" asked Garibaldi, and Sarah nodded. "Wonder why he stayed so close. You'd think he'd go as far away as possible."

"Looks less suspicious," offered Stephen. "If anyone tried looking for her, you wouldn't go for the wife of an ex-officer who's living an hour away from where she was held prisoner."

"We need to talk to them," said John authoritatively. "Michael, will you—"

But before anything could be done or even asked, the distant sound of klaxons could be heard, and within seconds the room was full of beeping links.

"Shots fired in Blue 14," reported Garibaldi's deputy, as similar information was conveyed to the others. "There's some whackjob barricaded himself into a corner, taking potshots those people up from Earth."

"The Hammonds?" asked Garibaldi, looking at the others.

"That's them. Looks like it could turn nasty, Chief."

"We'll be there," said Garibaldi, and signed off. He turned to Sheridan and raised an eyebrow. "What say we go sort this out?" John grinned.

"I'm right with you." There was a mass exodus as Michael Garibaldi and John Sheridan left the conference room, followed by everyone else. If they were prone to wearing long black coats, favoured of heroes, they would have swirled.


End file.
